


For Better or for Worse

by jessahmewren



Category: The X-Files, The X-Files: I Want To Believe (2008)
Genre: Angst, F/M, MSR, Post-I Want to Believe, X-Files Wifegate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-17 07:00:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5858881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessahmewren/pseuds/jessahmewren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-"I Want to Believe." Mulder and Scully spend time away from the darkness and pledge themselves to each other. Oneshot. Another scenario of how they may have been married.  Inspired by William Butler Yeats.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Better or for Worse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jackandsamforever](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jackandsamforever/gifts).



> For jackandsamforever who requested a wedding fic shortly after “wifegate” happened. Title is from Mulder’s words to Scully in the back of Tad’s limo in Season 10. Angst with payoff. This is the first time I’ve ever written Mulder and Scully fic, and honestly I am nervous about posting it. I hope I came close to honoring them.

-0-0-0-

“Do you believe in God, Scully?” He asked her things like this in quiet moments, so it was not unexpected.

“I’m Catholic, Mulder,” she replied quietly. “You know what I believe.”

She could feel him smile, although she could not see his face. Her cheek rested against his bare chest, the heat of his skin warding off the cool night. The moon warmed them as the sun would have. They had always found their light in darkness.

His hand went up to stroke her hair, long fingers just brushing the ends. Though he would not say so, Scully suspected that he liked the longer length.

“Catholicism is just what you practice, Scully. Roger Maris broke Babe Ruth’s homerun record in 1961, yet it’s not officially acknowledged. Everyone could count to 61 in 1961, but they didn’t want to believe it. Many thought Maris, an establishment outsider with a take-no-prisoners attitude, a loner…hardly a people pleaser…was not worthy of breaking the Babe’s record.”

He took a breath; his fingers in her hair stilled. “It’s a matter of perspective, Scully.” He dipped his chin a bit, looking down at the top of her head where it lay against his chest. “What you practice is often very different from what you believe.”

She sighed, flattening her hand where it lay against his heart. She could feel the steady beat there, strumming against her palm. “I believe in God, Mulder.”

She had to. She had no choice.

Just like her work with The X-Files had bent her science, had tested and shaken and rebuilt everything she believed to be true about the universe and the natural world, so too had it bent and shaped and ultimately proven her belief and even her faith in God.

Scully watched her hand as it rose and fell in perfect time with his breathing. She remembered another time, years ago, where she had watched that hand rise and fall over his chest as it did now. The movement had been rhythmic but artificial, propelled by a machine. His skin, a slab of cool granite, similar to his in color now but devoid of his present warmth--his life--had felt so foreign to her then. But he had been returned to her; that's all that mattered.

Yes, she believed in God. Sitting in that hospital room all those years ago, she had bent over her two miracles, one beneath each hand, and thanked a God she had not always fully trusted for giving them a second chance.

They were both quiet; the only sounds were the waves, and the soft rattle of palm trees, and the slow creak of their hammock as it moved in the languid breeze.

She moved her face against him, and he could feel the warmth of her tears.

“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you.”

It hurt him as it always did, acutely and with no small amount of guilt. She did not answer him.

“I should never have gone,” he said quietly. His voice was distant and hollow, and it carried on the sound of crashing waves. “I should’ve stayed with you. With William.”

He paused before he said his name, as he always did, as if the name itself was not to be taken in vain…like it hurt him physically to say the word.

Scully closed her eyes, her weight settling against him again. “You did what you believed was right,” she said, her voice brittle.

“I was merely practicing what I thought was right,” he said stiffly, “not what I believed.” He tightened his arm around her. “I should’ve stood by you. I should’ve fought for our son.”

“Stop this,” she said, rising on an elbow. A curtain of titian hair fell over her shoulder, and he watched the moonlight leach away some of its vibrancy rather than look at her face. He pursed his lips.

“Don’t do this, Mulder. It doesn’t change anything.” She moved against him, her face now equal with his, and forced him to look at her. “Don’t shut me out,” she whispered. A single tear escaped her lashes, slipping down the graceful arc of her cheek. Her eyes were luminous…so full of love. He didn’t deserve her. He knew it as fact.

“Why did God take our son from us?”

His eyes were dark and searching. Pleading. _Show me Scully lead me Scully teach me Scully you're my Scully and you can tell me why goddamit_.

She had seen that look a thousand times...heard the litany transmitted behind those soulful eyes. But Mulder grieved for their son in private; she had not expected this.

With tears glittering her eyes, she traced his face with the pads of her fingers. “Oh Mulder,” she breathed, and pressed her lips to his. It was fleeting…a gentle reassurance that he placidly accepted. When she withdrew, his eyes were closed.

“God gave us a son,” she said softly. “Men threatened to take him away. I made a choice…and not without asking God first.”

He opened his eyes and smoothed his hand over her damp face. His hands cupped the gentle slope of her cheek. “I should’ve been with you,” he whispered. “You and me against the world, Scully.”

She smiled, turning her face into his palm. She kissed it. “For better or for worse.”

“for richer, for poorer,” he shot back.

“in sickness and in health--”

“for as long as we both shall live,” they whispered in unison.

They were both smiling now. Mulder quirked his mouth. “Did we just get married, Scully?”

An eyebrow shot skyward. “Hardly.”

He moved his arm around her, pulling her close. His palm found a home at the small of her back, warm and heavy. His chin settled on the top of her head.

“We’ve got the ‘sickness and in health’ part right,” she said quietly. She sighed against him, and he rubbed his hand idly up her back. She was thinking of her cancer…of his abduction…of the countless times they had stared death in the face.

“What if I asked you,” he said quietly.

She looked up at him curiously, her face unreadable. “Asked me what.”

“Marry me.”

She dipped her head and then looked up at him in the same way she had when he’d told her he loved her...when he’d been spit out by the Queen Anne and had confessed his love for her from his hospital bed.

“You think I’m not serious?” He squeezed her waist as if to punctuate the statement, the formerly calloused trigger finger of his right hand now smooth and cool against her fevered skin.

“Marry me.”

She shifted against him, the stiff peaks of her breasts raking through a small patch of chest hair, causing him to stiffen slightly beneath her. She pursed her mouth thoughtfully, her eyes probing the dark, tearless but wet in the moonlight.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?”

He nodded. “More serious than I’ve ever been about anything in my life, Scully.”

She ran her fingers through his hair, the gold chain of her cross necklace swinging softly between them. “We don’t need to be married,” she said quietly. “I—

“But there’s no reason not to be. Marriage is actually good for you. Married people live longer…Right Dr. Scully?” He nosed her neck, murmuring softly into her dewy skin. “You gonna let me be your husband?”

She laughed, one of his favorite sounds that he heard far too rarely. She narrowed her eyes at him.

“When?”

He shrugged. “Next week, next month…a year from now—I honestly don’t care when. We may not be Feds any more, but you’re my partner. I want heaven and hell to know it.”

She looked at him, stymied and with a bit of wonder. This was one of those moments, she realized, those rare instances where her science and faith bent and evolved and conformed to a new truth…the truth she had found in Fox Mulder and the truth he had found in her.

“Ok,” she finally said. It was little more than an exhalation.

“Well that’s excellent news,” he said wryly, “because I’ve already called the caterer.” With one swift movement, Mulder tipped the hammock and flipped them onto the soft sand below. Scully yelped in surprise. The blanket they were lying on settled on top of them.

He brushed them off and pulled them both to their feet.

“Let’s go, Scully.” He tugged at her hand, his eyes wild with excitement. Under the stars, he looked about twelve years old.

“Go where, Mulder?” She remained fixed in place, looking at him skeptically. “We’re alone on an island and our way out of here doesn’t come back through for another week.”

“Then that gives us plenty of time for our honeymoon.” He smiled broadly extending his hand again. “Whatdya say, Dana? There’s no time like the present.”

She smiled at him, the use of her first name not lost on her. It was so strange in the beginning, to hear him call her that. His use of her given name was symbolic, she realized, and it meant more to Mulder than it did to her. While she did not often call him Fox, he frequently called her Dana.

She only smiled and let him lead them to the edge of the water. She had gathered the blanket around her, and it slipped from her shoulders, exposing her to the night air.

“Who is going to officiate this union, Mulder? Or are they on the supply ship along with the caterer?”

He grinned, pleased by her their back-and-fourth. “Supply ship,” he said simply. “But you’re the daughter of ship’s captain, Scully. You can marry us.”

She sighed, lowering her head as the blanket beat around her legs at the water’s edge.

Scully cleared her throat, looking around the desolate beach, at the foaming ocean caps breaking and lapping at their feet. “Who gives this woman to this man?”

“She gives herself,” Mulder said simply. “Always has.”

She smiled. This was serious for him, she realized. This was as legitimate a marriage as if they were wed in a Catholic church. She reached for his hands.

“Would the bride and groom like to exchange vows?”

Mulder nodded thoughtfully. “Yes they would. Or I would.”

He cleared his throat, rubbing his thumb over the knuckles of her hands. He looked into her eyes.

“I Fox William Mulder, take you, Dana Katherine Scully, as my wedded wife. I bind myself to you on earth, under heaven, and” he said, looking up into the starry night, “in worlds unknown to us. I pledge my life, my death, and all that I have to our union.”

Scully swallowed, surprised by the emotions wrought from those simple words. They had never needed conventional testimonies of love and affection, yet in a few simple words, Mulder had just given her the world. She looked up at him. They were barefoot, and their height difference contrasted sharply against the night sky. She would stand with this man for the rest of her life.

“I Dana Katherine Scully, take you, Fox William Mulder, as my wedded husband. I bind myself to you on earth, under heaven, and in worlds unknown to us,” she said steadily, remembering his brief but beautiful vow. “I pledge my life, my death, and all that I have to our union.”

He smiled then, beatific and pure, and she had to look away from him to keep from falling into his arms before the little ceremony was done.

“Um, since we don’t have rings, I guess—“

“Oh, we have rings,” Mulder said. He plucked a slender piece of seagrass from the edge of the water. He broke off a small section. With her small hand in his, he tied the length of it around the ring finger of her left hand, making a small bow. “With this ring,” he said softly as he looked into her eyes, “I thee wed.”

He held up a portion of the seagrass for her to do the same. She took it, repeating the action. “With this ring,” she began earnestly, “I thee wed.”

And then he smiled at her. The tears she had successfully held in check began to flow freely. He wiped one away with the pad of his thumb, letting his fingers rest at the base of neck.

“Well, by the power invested in you by me and as the moon and stars as witness to our union, I pronounce us husband and wife.” He smiled. “I guess I can kiss my bride now.” He splayed his fingers where his hand lay at the back of her neck and pulled her to his warmth.

The blanket slipped from her shoulders into the water below. His lips were soft, fitted perfectly to hers, those same lips she had felt against her own so many times yet it was never enough. Her hands threaded his hair as his moved to cradle her face, exploring the depths of her mouth, their bodies witness to the union of their heart and mind.

Dana Scully, he thought amazingly. His wife. For better or for worse.

-0-0-0-


End file.
